


Drawn to the Fire

by Tigerkid14



Series: Kinktober 2017 [22]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Cutting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Scars, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigerkid14/pseuds/Tigerkid14
Summary: Trish gets a tattoo to cover up some old scars





	Drawn to the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober 2017, prompt: scars

One of the hardest things Trish Walker had learned through the years was that the past couldn’t be changed. Acceptance was one of the steps, after all.

The wry thought didn’t necessarily help, but it was there, and she acknowledged it. And she accepted that she’d made some damaging decisions, whatever her reasons for them at the time.

The scars on her upper thighs were among them. She couldn’t help but think about them as she waited for everything to be set up.

She’d put a lot of thought into this, making sure that it wouldn’t be another of her damaging decisions, that she was doing it for the right reasons.

Jessica would think she was crazy for doing it, but Jessica didn’t need to know, not until it was too late for her to change Trish’s mind anyway.

The paperwork was processed and everything was ready, so they went into the back room where Trish took off her pants, folding them and laying them carefully on a nearby table then sitting on the chair so her thigh could be cleaned, shaved, and cleaned again.

Getting the placement of the stencil right took two tries, but they finally placed it exactly where Trish wanted it, and she got to sit back in the chair.

It was an awkward pose, leaned back at an angle, her other leg dangling over the side and her scarred one twisted to make the inner thigh lie as flat and accessible as she could make it.

When the ink and all the equipment was ready, the artist smeared some ointment on her thigh and then placed the needle against her skin, the hum of the machine as it needled in and out of her leg a contrast to the quiet of the room.

It hurt, and it took a long time, first to do the linework, then to add the shading and coloring, yet no matter how painful it got, Trish never said a word, except once to ask for a short break so she could get some feeling and blood flow back to her other leg.

Her mind wandered during the process, and as she maintained her silence, she thought about how she had always done that, always kept her mouth shut against the hurts, the damage, whether it was inflicted by her mother or her own hand. It had never helped to do so, but for some reason, she kept silent now too.

This moment felt cleansing, like purification, sacred, so she kept silent to honor it, a reverent sort of silence, different from all the silences that had come before.

She lost herself in the haze of it, of the silence wrapping itself around her like a cocoon, of the pain buzzing in and out of her leg on tiny needles, bringing with it color and catharsis.

When it was done, when her leg was cleaned up and she looked at the finished product, permitting the artist to take a picture for their portfolio, and the haze had faded so she could think clearly again, she smiled.

On her leg, covering the scars, signaling her acceptance and her desire to move on, was the result of her decision.

The flames looked like they were flickering up her inner thigh, consuming her. The fire would always be with her.

And maybe she’d tell Jessica.


End file.
